Step by Step/Issue 25
This is Issue #25 of Step by Step. This is the first issue of Volume Five and Part Two. Way Back The night stood in an inky sheet of black, where just hours before it had been a blue and utterly still day. Definitely one to remember. It was sweet-smelling, with frost rolling over the streets, and above a full moon had pierced the complete darkness of night sky. There was a smudged smattering of lampposts, weakly making any effort to ward off the night. Some stars dotted the skies, like freckles amongst the pale, giant clouds that dawned over. It was a war between them, the stars and the dark, and for a glistening moment, it seemed that the darkness was to linger for a while longer. A man materialized out of nowhere, simply coming into the street, on his hands and knees. He fumbled around, running some fingers through his hair. The man was heaving, his back running up and down like a Billy-o. It wasn't until the man flipped on his back, all tired and exhausted, that the man's set of eyes twinkled in the dark. They, two little specks of milky white, belonged to the man's bloodied face. The man groaned, his throat itching as he wriggled around the ground. For a moment he stopped, just to holler out a shrill, before his chest jerked up and finally fell. It was crazy. The man was a lunatic. Around the corner, two figures, each stooped over and walking with a hunch, lingered to the man. They did not stop, taking each agonizing moment for their own. The two crazed people slurped their tongues, outstretched their arms, and scrambled over to the man. All of it happened within thirty seconds, no more no less. Lyle had wished that the man was already dead, dead as in before he hit the ground. It'd been painful to watch, and now more than ever as the two crazies shoe-shined their meal and began to devour. One of the two, a shop owner with blond hair, bent down and grabbed one of the man's arms. She went at it, her teeth got deep into it before she pulled out with a wet snap. This went on for, say about five minutes, until what remained of the arm was a fleshy, sinewy stick. Lyle watched, figured she would drop it and go for the other arm, but the shop owner continued. She craned her head, pushing back her yellow hair matted with blood, and twisted her head at the man's arm again. A wet snap, and then another, until she bit and bit and there was nothing left to eat. Absolutely now, Lyle thought, she would let go. But she didn't. Something cracked, a whisper escaping the man's arm as his bone broke open, and the woman feasted on that as well. Boy, did he come a cropper. He shivered in a cold sweat, sitting at a table near an open window. It was colder than welldigger's feet, but he didn't mind much. He was coughing his lungs out, the pack of Marlboro in his pocket. He patted it, his face filling with dark hilarity. He had been in here for a while, something like four to five hours. He was out in the open, vulnerable. The back of the building was open, to where the floor sprawled into the grass and dirt of a construction zone. It was very late, and Lyle was getting the creeps. Dead zone, he thought. That scared him. He'd found a water bottle, partially open, and had drunk it. His windpipe was on fire, scorched like Hell. He could not help but laugh, laugh at it all with a smile on his face. He didn't care if the two infected went at it–he was ready. He'd go down swinging, until his black lungs started to fail and whatever mattered anymore didn't. He gulped down some saliva, and exhaled, then remembered about the fading red tail lights. The lot of them, about three of the cars had made it out, and two others had curved around the avenue. That's what puzzled him. Finally, a wet snap from outside. He turned, and faced where the two cars had taken. It was a church, a typical one with a tall steeple. He stared long and hard, then lost himself in the belfry. His belly shuddered, and his throat bobbed up and down. He looked away, then back. "Christ," he said. If this was what he was going to do, then so be it. He'd let the ones above decide for him. Lyle got up, shakily, and held the table for support. He sighed, then moved to the other side of the room. It was a big, single room. Vulnerable, he thought. A lamppost fizzled near the zone, and blinked once to illuminate something move. It was at least a pack of them, the crazies, four or more definitely. That big, he thought. Lyle didn't move for a second, didn't give a breath, or plead for more. He stopped because something was coming. Because something was going to come soon, but he did not know what. It wouldn't be the group of dead coming, they had left by then. Whatever the case was, he did catch a break from the hell in his airways. He took a deep breath, and went back to the table to burn some midnight oil, otherwise known as a Marlboro, but before that happened he heard a soft hum, then a couple voices breeze his way. An echo. ---- 13 o' clock. It was dark inside by that time. The moonlight shone through the long, purple curtains, casting an eerie glow along the aisles of pews. Wayne walked by the choir benches, looking in angst as he heard a bird, a stuttering owl, flutter around outside. She cawed and flapped madly in a wilderness of gnarled trees, which hung low to and scrapped the cracking stained-glass windows he looked out of. Thick smoke fell into the set of pews as he moved on, his footsteps sounded deafening on the aged, wood floor. The owl waved him goodbye, and left him. Wayne moved on, touching the back of a pew, and slipped past. As he walked, he wondered about the last time he'd smelled that Anglican smell, the tingy scent of wax candles alight and the smell of fusty prayer books. He was by the end of the aisle now, and looked around before sighing. The barely lit passage ran down the whole south of the church, and gave him the taste of metal polish in the air, something like diesel fumes. It was as if the velfry, a little room to the left of the passage, was the only place that didn't stink. Fire stood in front of him, wrapped in a shroud of white smoke, haunted by the echo of crackling cinders. It was surrounded by a brick chimney, a dark red in the shadows. There were a group of them, all huddled together near the fireplace. One man in denim, Nolan, had taken to the side of the room. He was standing near the little velfry room, full of thought and looking aimlessly out stained-glass. Wayne thought about going over, talking to the man, while also talking about the nose candy, but he was caught in the middle of it all. A woman, her face burning with color from a handheld lighter, nudged him from the side. She was beautiful in the midnight, and she was smiling too, but then her smile faded. The paramedic told him hello, and asked him if he'd like something to eat. "Not too much, right?" "The boys found some stacked peas," Lilian said. "It was up for grab's, basically." Wayne smiled, and then she did too. "You ought to save 'em, give them to some other folks." He looked around. "Not a lot of folks, I gather?" She nodded, gave him a wan smile. "I'm flabbergasted by it all, really. We made it out before things got worse, yet these people don't feel it like I do." Lilian considered over what she said. "That cop, Amanda, she's that way you came from. Bet you it's the man she shot dead, she was practically turning blue. And the other cop's got the same thing going on, 'cept I don't trust him after what he did to the teacher." Wayne remembered Hector, the same Hector who'd shot and got one of the teachers. A teacher whose blasted out brains he'd cleaned up, just for the merit badge. The fire crackled, popped, and sizzled behind her. They heard Alexander, who sat staring into the dazzling orange glow, make oohs and ahhs. The kid was making the most of it, and that's what made Lilian feel like good things had happened, too. Joseph sat beside Alex, warming his hands around the crackles of the fireplace. Even the Davis bunch, the two left who made up the family name, found some comfort near the warm chimes of the fireplace. It was an inescapable, inevitable night. The church, known for many decades as King's Christian Church, was more righteous than its name enthralled. Actually, even with its homegrown woodworms lurking hungrily and about, the floorboards creaky and worn, and dry-rot viciously latching itself to the attic ceiling, King's Christian Church was still a typical church. Wayne'd been to many like it, well-respected and well-kept in a sense. He had never set foot in a church younger than springtime, because simply there were barely any. He smoothed the arms of his muddy green jacket. Wayne pulled a hand out to Lilian, and they shook on it. She looked very much like Claudette, very much so. He'd see her later, hoped he would. Right off the bat, she seemed sane and rational, unlike that one kid he saw sitting at a lone pew. When he was alone, Wayne pursed his lips and slicked back his hair. The boy's name was Eugene, something along the lines of that. Nolan looked at him from afar, giving him a glare. Pockets of smoke carried themselves between Nolan and Wayne, and echoed through the cavernous passageway, bouncing between red velvet lined pew, and finally billowing away. When the smoke cleared, Nolan shot another look at the man, didn't even bat an eye. Wayne gave him tit for tat, started to walk towards him, until someone called out. "Yeeeaah, way to go!" The inner hall dimmed for a moment, the firelight fainting. Then it came back, full speed, and the whole hall was bright and aglow. It turned out to be one of the soldiers, the military brat with a trophy, Gordon. He'd referred about the fire, which had scattered to full-tilt, and Alexander oohed and ahhed, again. Wayne didn't mind them, just as much as he didn't mind the biting cold. It twisted him up about how anyone could stay out there, in the streets where the night was restless and cold, and alive. It felt like Christmas, or something. Even the group of eight, antsy like moths around a light, didn't level the room to full capacity. It turned out that, even when there was canned goods to get to, people wouldn't show up. That's probably what was getting Lilian all worried about. With all the laughter, Wayne was sure the dead outside could hear them, but if they did they were far too busy scrounging around the leftovers of Summercreek. The school, about five to six blocks away, was still on fire, plumes of smoke still covered it, and the infected had a lot to chew on in terms of meals. The two buddy cops, Amanda and Hector, were off on their own. Nolan had seen them, visibly scarred and tired, when they'd made it to King's. She and he had left, at the nick of an hour afterwards. Then he'd talked with that shady, gloved soldier, Carter. They'd talked about how each other were doing, and both had went back and forth a bit on the significance of wearing gloves all day. That had seemed to disappoint Carter, who left right then and there with Malcolm, after the sergeant asked for some help finding nails for boarding up the church. Just twenty minutes ago, Nolan had been chatting it away with the other soldiers, mostly Gordon who quizzed him on the interiors and exteriors of the year's Top Gear pick. To be honest, his stomach was a spitting, mean one now. That didn't mean he was starving, but had a feeling it'd be good to try out the peas. After all, they were up for grab's, as Lilian put it. Nolan smiled, and got off the wall, crossing him arms. His shoes, dusted and rough, walked him over to Wayne. They exchanged looks, and then Nolan started talking about the guns. "I need you to get me a piece," the thirty-five year old said. "They trust you, they like you. You see, they don't want nothing to do with me. That's why I need a piece soon, maybe after we talk, so I can break out. You could steal it from one of the teens, say Joe. While he sleeps, snatch it. Give it to me, and you could run with me outta here." "Out of where?" Wayne asked him. "This is a holy place." Nolan considered the words and then mashed his hands like a garder's soil-wettened palms. "Keep up with me," he whispered, in a bare tone. "Hold on a second." "Dammit," Nolan cocked his chin over to the altar, which laid behind Wayne, and several pews up. He inched away from Wayne, "Over there," he said, "in thirty." That was all they spoke, before Nolan walked away and onward. Wayne straightened himself up, and made an effort over to the fireplace. The short kid, Alexander, had started to do some singing. He started out with a ringing noise, picking and grinning in the fire's glow, and clucked his tongue. His eyes flickered in the light, a great orange replacing them. He started out with "Indiana, That's Where I Belong", and branched out from there like bluegrass over a midnight. He started out soft and slow, but then grew as his confidence followed along. "I see a bad moon arisin' I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today." Back in the day, Nolan had been shitlicker for the CB radio. He'd been plowing road for all his youth, never once taking in a whiff of fool's gold. Interstate 70 had been his go-to place, all the way to the stateline. One time, a Monday he guessed, he'd been stopped by a Bear. It had been wearing a Mountie hat, so tight around the state trooper's head it might've squeezed him like a lemon. As a matter of fact, that day he'd been riding a lemon. He had connected the car to his CB radio, and had been blasting along stateline until the cop had pulled him to the side. The lemon wasn't in that much bad shape, and because it was a Ford Pinto, he'd kept it. The thing was that, blinded by the Bean's recliner chairs with beer holders, he had forgotten to check the license plate–BIT3M3, or a just plain "bite me" to whatever bear taking pictures would have seen at a distance. The bear had come on rough, barking at Nolan, and shouting on about how damn well he'd been hurt by the plate. The officer, who's name Nolan has long forgotten, came back around with a ticket, just at the right angle for him to see a place on the officer's chin where he'd cut himself shaving that fine morning. Yes, sirree, that was a bad Monday, for the both of them. "I hear hurricanes ablowin' I know the end is comin' soon I fear rivers overflowin' I hear the voice of rage and ruin." Nolan posted himself beside the altar, distinguishing himself far enough from the choir benches. He hadn't been much of a Bible reader, much less have a knack for books themselves. He'd read when the time was right, and not have it shoved at him. He wiped at his eyes, breathing wetly into his hands. The altar was dressed over with a fine, powder-white cloth, its ends fitted with flashy nice decorations. Nolan smiled, and he saw the candy striper, Kerry, smile in his direction, then she went back to looking at Alex as he bellowed out. "Hope you got your things together Hope you are quite prepared to die Looks like we're in for nasty weather One eye is taken for an eye." Across the pews, Wayne held a canned of cracked peas in one hand. Joseph had given him a pair, though it was not for him. He looked through the smokey pews, to Eugene who sat alone. When they had arrived at King's, he'd been screaming his lungs off about his cousin, like she was a big deal or something. Carter had told him to shut up, and Eugene told him to shut the fuck ''up. Now he was sitting alone, so Wayne walked over. He thought of something to say, maybe a hello, or a bonjour. Claudette would've liked that. He sat down, next to Eugene, staring off into God knows what. He angled with Eugene, and it turned out that the boy was looking at Christ the Redeemer. Wayne grinned, and passed Eugene the peas, to which he grabbed hesitantly. The song took over the church, and by the time Wayne had settled completely, Alexander was about done for the night. Wayne glanced at Eugene momentarily, then back at the Redeemer. ''"Don't go around tonight Well, it's bound to take your life There's a bad moon on the rise." The rest was left unsaid. Issues Category:Step by Step Category:Category:Step by Step Issues Category:Issues